


Red Blood

by JennaJay



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 12:08:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12298947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JennaJay/pseuds/JennaJay
Summary: Matthew Holt may not be a prisoner of the Galra anymore, but his memories still haunt him.





	Red Blood

It had been a long time since Matt had been a prisoner of the Galra. But no matter what he did, he never felt free.

Sure, he could manage to push his time as a prisoner into the back of his mind. He could even manage to keep it there for a few hours, days, or even weeks if he was lucky.

But then, without any warning, he’d be pulled back onto the Galra ships again.

Sometimes it would be someone tall walking toward him out of the corner of his eye like the Galra guards had done. Panic would clutch and claw at his chest. He’d instantly freeze up and try to seem as small as possible in the hope that the threat would pass him over.

It always would. Whoever it was never meant him any harm. Still, it was hard for his body to forget the Galra even after all this time.

Other times it would be something as simple as how a broken light flickered and reminded him of that one purple light near his cell that no one had ever seemed to fix. Then he’d be back there, cowering, trembling, completely vulnerable. Not like he was now.

But it didn’t matter what he was like now. Whenever that happened, he always became that weak, little Earthling who never stood a chance at protecting himself or anyone he cared about. That feeling of vulnerability was always the worst part of those types of flashbacks.

But blood was always the worst. Green blood, blue blood, purple blood. Whenever he saw it, he’d be pulled back into the most horrible memories he had: Memories of aliens who he’d come to know and care for being beaten to death for not doing what the Galra had ordered them to do. Their blood stained the floor and their bodies were disposed of like garbage. He had to relive that ever-present fear that he’d accidentally step out of line and then it would be the end.

Red blood, however, was a special kind of torment. Whenever he saw it, all he could think about was his father and Shiro. How the Galra had hurt them. How they had always walked around with bleeding wounds and dark bruises covering their bodies. How none of his begging had made the Galra treat the people he cared about any better. 

Red blood was the worst because it reminded him that he’d been torn apart from the only two other people who had blood like his. How he had lost the only people he still had left to hold on to through all that had happened.

Whenever he saw red blood, everything would press against him. The panic would surround him, gripping him in its vice-like grip. He could feel the guards breathing down his neck. He could hear the screams and groans of sick and dying prisoners. He could smell the rank stench of waste and decay that permeated the prison cells. 

And he could see Shiro. He was always in pain. Matt was always too weak to ever rush to his side. Always too weak to offer him more than a few comforting words that they both knew were lies. 

Always too weak to protect him.

And then, the memories would fade, but his panic would stay. He’d stand there, paralyzed by his own fear as he struggled to pull himself out of his own thoughts and into reality.

And once he’d calmed down, he’d try to push the memories to the back of his mind.

They’d stay there for a few hours, days or even weeks if he was lucky.

But no matter what, they always came back.

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism is highly appreciated.


End file.
